


And People Can Think What They Like

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Italy Unpacked (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Challenge Response, Drinking, Ficlet, First Kiss, First Time, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: My half of the challenge that me and Mcicioni set one another - our unofficial codas to the first episode of Sicily Unpacked. My slightly angstier version of what developed that night, after strangers become a catalyst in their love life - my yin story to Mcicioni's yang - 'In Vino Veritas'





	And People Can Think What They Like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcicioni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/gifts).



> Italian phrases beta'd by the wonderful Mcicioni - thank you x
> 
> *~*~*~*
> 
> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

Andrew wrapped his fingers around the two almost freezing-cold glasses, the condensation beginning to drip a little down onto his his hands and even his shirt, as he collected the two Birra Messina's he'd ordered from the bar.

He didn't care that the ice-water was getting him wet; he didn't care about the loud, bustling crowds which might usually make him a little wary, might make him shrink into himself; he didn't care about the intensity of the humid night, and the way it was making his fringe stick to his head with sweat - he didn't care about any of it - because, whenever he was with Giorgio, he was having the time of his life. And tonight, the last night of their Sicilian tour, in Palermo, was no exception. Or at least it _hadn't_ been, until he heard the commotion that had been brewing in his absence.

"Che, sono affari tuoi?" he heard the unmistakable cry of his drinking partner, who was clearly angry at _somebody_. _What business is it of yours?_ "Who the _fuck_ are you, anyway, man?" he asked him, this time in English, and so it was very clear to Andrew that something was kicking off. But a crowd was gathering around the pair of them now, and Andrew was having difficulty making his way through the many people, especially as he was trying not to spill two half-pints of lager all over himself.

As he broke free from where he had been wedged between two couples, who were keenly onlooking and waiting for the heated situation to develop, he arrived just in time to see Giorgio poking a thuggish man squarely in the chest, "I don'a know how you fucking _dare_ say that!" And when the American in question, bordering on six-foot-six and nearly half as wide, rose from his seat, Graham-Dixon felt the need to intervene.

"Come on," he said softly, "Let's go outside." And that they did. He was merely thankful that they had made it out of the bar in one piece.

They placed their drinks down on little round table and Andrew was glad that he _had_ , because he needed a free hand when Giorgio - still pumped up - tried to enter the bar _again_. The older man grabbed him gently by the elbow and guided him back to where they were standing, on the outskirts of the outdoor seating area.

"Hey, hey, hey... what's all this about?" he stopped him, "Giorgio - what's going on?"

"He 'ad no right to say all those things about us," Locatelli was still clearly very agitated. "He was'a bang out of line."

"What things? What things about us?"

"Don'a worry about it, Andrew. I sorted it - it was nothing - it dasn't matter now anyway," the Italian tried to change the subject.

"I rather think it does!" came the challenge. Andrew felt affronted; Giorgio had caused a real scene and now he didn't even want to tell him _why_.

"Look!" he threw his hands in the air. "I don'a care if you are... _effeminate_ ... Andrew. It does not matter to me if you... are what you... _are_. Okay? And people can think what they _like_ about us. I don'a care."

"He thought we were a couple? As in - a _gay_ couple?" Andrew cleared his throat and tried not to react too strangely; he wanted to put on a show as if Giorgio's observations had not affected him - even if they had. Was it _so_ plain to see? Had he so obviously been flirting with his male friend that it was worthy of comment by those who'd watched on? Had his co-host known how he'd felt about him all along throughout this trip?

"Yeah... And I'a told him to keep his _fucking_ nose out of it."

"Why didn't you just tell him that we weren't?" he enquired.

" _Because_ ... dat's not the point, is it? And besides..." he broke off, slightly apprehensive of how to proceed, "We _could_ be... Maybe it could just 'appen at samtime, you know? Maybe I would not mind dat 'appening between us. You are not the only one who ever thinks dese things."

"I didn't realise," Andrew mumbled shyly into the lip of his glass as he took a sip of beer, the coldness of the liquid jolting him not nearly as much as that revelation had. His eyes met with Giorgio's and, in doing so, they produced a cheeky smile from the Michelin-starred chef - the same smile which had been knocking him for six ever since they left London and embarked upon this journey together. "Shall we... uh... go?" he stammered, finishing his drink, "Back to our--"

"Nah," Locatelli shook his head. "Why should we?" he asked, demandingly. "You... do not 'ave to _'ide_ from dis world, Andrew," he leaned forward and whispered into his ear, his hand now stroking his forearm. " _We_ do not 'ave to 'ide," he pointed between the pair of them. "I am _sick_ of 'iding - you have no idea 'ow much I am."

"What does that mean?" the historian asked him, nervously, his breaths becoming faster between every word of each sentence.

"It means dis," Giorgio murmured, pulling the other man forward by his shoulders and planting a long and meaningful kiss directly on his lips. "It means 'fuck their idea of normality,' isn't it? This is us, man. This is _us_ and what we _are._ And I like it."


End file.
